She's A Free Spirit
by DeafeningSilence1317
Summary: Countries around the world have nicknamed her "Freedom". But she isn't all that free. She's just... Wait, who is she? She doesn't have a name. A proper one. She's fine with being America and Canada's stupid little sister, though. Really. BE WARNED! OC'S USED AND I MUST ADMIT THEY ARE QUITE FOUL IN THE LANGUAGE DEPARTMENT. HUMAN NAMES USED.


So I've decided to reboot this series, and IT'S GONNA BE FLIPPIN AWESOME. For those of you who may have encountered the first installment, you may see bits and pieces from the old series that you'll recognize. For those of you who do not know what the hell I'm talking about, do not fear. This doesn't concern you. Your minds are young and malleable and you do not need to know of the old series to get this one.

We are starting over with this new one, so forget everything about the first series. This one's gonna kick ass.

Anywho, this is an idea I had since I first began watching Hetalia. "WHERE ARE THE NATIVE AMERICANS?" I had exclaimed several times during the episodes.

So I made up my own little Native America OC and we're gonna read about her and her adventures in life. I know, I know; all the tribes deserve their own little personification but AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FO DAT, so I guess Native America's gonna have to do.

I apologize in advance for any historical inaccuracy, any self-harm her utter stupidity and my neglegence may inflict upon you, and any errors in grammar. I no English no good. ;_;

So, go right ahead and read. Give it a try; you may learn something. Maybe not. I dunno; you may be really super smart and you may just want to read this to criticize me and my horrible attempt at personifying myself into the Hetalia-verse. That's okay. That's totally fine with me.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT (NOR WILL I PROBABLY EVER) OWN HETALIA, I DO NOT OWN NATIVE AMERICANS (EXCEPT THIS HERE NATIVE AMERICA YOU'RE ABOUT TO READ ABOUT, BUT I DO NOT OWN HER PEOPLE), AND THAT IS SOMETHING I JUST NEEDED TO CLARIFY. Alright go and read now.

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><p><em>Around 60,000-25,000 years ago, there was something called the 'Bering Strait' that connected Siberia to Alaska, caused by falling sea levels.<em>

_(Insert map of Bering Strait connecting early North America to Asia and big yellow blinking arrow pointing to a small child walking across said bridge)_

_There were 3 major migrations from the peoples that lived in Siberia at the time to the Americas, as traced by linguistic and genetic data._

_It was believed that the people just wanted something to eat and that they followed herds of animals across the bridge._

_(Insert said small child running after a bison with spear)_

_Soon, these Paleo Indians had comfortably spread out across what is now America and to parts of Alaska, Canada, the islands of Hawaii, and a lot even found there way down into South America. Soon, many diverse cultures, languages, and territories were formed for the increasing population._

_(Insert said child a little older than before, comfortably lying in the grass)_

_For a while, life was good. Food was plentiful, their world was full of culture and spiritual enlightenment, and for the most part, everyone got along. Until 1492, that is._

_(Insert child being poked and prodded at by Christopher Columbus)_

"Hey, listen, the hero wants to say something!" America yelled over the chatter filling the room. I rolled my closed eyes. I knew he didn't even have anything productive or positive to add to the subject they were _supposed to be_ discussing. Sure, I didn't either, but I was polite about it. I chose to take a nap.

We were at France's house, and there were a buttload of people attending this particular get-together. Don't ask me what it was all about; as I mentioned before, I slept through most of it. All I really caught was the whole "WE'RE FALLING INTO AN INTERNATIONAL ECONOMIC COLLAPSE AND I THINK YOU ALL SHOULD DO THIS WHILE I KEEP DOING WHAT I'M DOING" or "OH MY FUCKING GOD ALL OF YOU MUST WORSHIP SATAN AND YOUR OPINIONS ON THIS OR THAT ARE TOTALLY WRONG LET ME EXPLAIN TO YOU WHAT I WANT SO YOU CAN DISAGREE FURTHER" kind of rant you'd expect from modern time's grown-ass men in politics. I was done with all that shit years ago.

Now that I think about it, maybe that's why I'm a poor-ass drunk... I don't give enough fucks.

"America, I was talking!" Britain snapped. I really, really wanted to shoot back "So was everyone else here, ya damn white boy! You don't hear _them_ bitching about other people talking" but, I mean, first of all that would be insanely inconsiderate and second, I was trying to sleep.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of his arm chair this morning," France murmured. Britain started yelling. France started yelling back. America started laughing. When I sat up to look around at the chaos, I saw that Canada started shuddering violently beside me because Russia sat down to the other side of him. Funny... Usually he gets sat on.

Germany tried to maintain order, but no one was really listening. I thought they would've shut their mouths by now. When Germany has something to say, you shut your damn mouth. But I suppose these are strange days we're living in.

I'm not sure where the Asian countries were at during all of this, but I didn't have the heart to look.

I shook my head and slammed my face into the table. I thought a nice opportunity to continue my nap was in order, so I brought up my arms and burrowed my face into them. Once I dozed off, I had this weird half dream where I was flying, and it was pretty nice until I felt like I was plummeting right out of the goddamn sky.

"Whoa-ly shit!" I yelled, bolting upright and blinking at the table that seemed suddenly a lot farther away than it was when I fell asleep. I had started to say "Whoa", but as my foul mouth would have it, I managed to turn a normal interjection into a curse word.

"Hey, wake up," America said from behind me. The bastard... He pulled my chair out. "Tell everyone to shut up."

Goddamn. These guys were still going at it?

"Do I really have to?" I asked America with a thin voice. He was asking the wrong girl here. I'm just about as loud as Canada. That's not loud. That's just about the exact opposite of loud.

"Well you're one of those old-ass 'Ancient' people that everyone kind of respects. C'mon, it's been like, 3 minutes. We won't have time for McDonald's afterwards, at this rate."

"No one cares about Ancients anymore; they're all long gone 'cept me. 'Sides, it's impolite to yell," I countered, rubbing my eye.

"Pft, since when do you have a moral code?"

"It's never left me; I just seldom use it," I replied, slamming my head back down to block him out.

"Well what else do you want me to do?" he asked.

I sat up again gave America a look of wary doubt. But he gave me those goddamn cerulean blue puppy eyes that I can never refuse.

I got up from my seat and cleared my throat.

"HEY, SHUT UP!" I yelled over the noise. All shouts and bickers instantly ceased.

I felt everyone staring at me. America was staring at me with his puppy eyes shining in admiration, Germany had this horrified look on his face, Britain and France gave me the impression that they were pissed I'd interupted their release of sexual tensions (it looked pretty intense; Britain had a handful of France's hair and France had a pretty good grip on Britain's neck), Prussia and Spain were half-smiling creepily at me, Mexico and the rest of Central America were just kind of staring, and the Asian countries looked like they wanted to bludgeon me with bricks. I mean, they always kind of looked at me that way, but more so than usual. I sat back down.

"Thank you."

America took it from there and I kept my head planted against the table through the rest of the meeting, dozing in and out of consciousness.

After another 40 minutes of boring political ranting and raving, the meeting came to a close. America dumped me out of my chair, and pulled me up on my feet. I stretched out, and yawned into my hands. But, as my yawn came to it's climax, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Indien d'Amerique, thank you for shutting us up earlier. Usually it doesn't get that loud. I apologize for not reigning it in on my own, but... Damn Britain, no?"

I turned and stared up at him for a moment. Time slowed down.

In case you didn't already know, I harbor this loving kind of fear for France. I mean, he's one of my many brothers, and I love him, but he just... Scares the shit out of me, at times. In reality, he's probably grown a resentment towards me, but there was that mutual friendship we had that I don't think neither of us has gotten over.

The only correct course of action in my mind at the time was to shriek and hide behind America. I'm a little pussy, I know.

"Feel free to have her come and visit any time; I enjoy having my little sister visit me," France told America. I burrowed further into America's back, and both of them laughed. What the Hell? He's had trouble even remembering my name as of the late 1800's. It was odd for him to acknowledge me suddenly. Let alone speak kindly.

_He's just being polite 'cause you got shit under control earlier_, I told myself. It was nice to finally get a kind glance from him, but I still felt weird.

"Sure thing, France."

It's not that I don't like people. I love a lot of people. I love all my brothers and my one illegitamate sister, Quebec; even if they don't remember me or they don't really have any desire to call me their sister anymore. Old habits die hard in me. It's just that I'm really socially awkward and quiet. That's probably where Canada gets it from; me and my... Native America-ness. I'd be way worse-off than him if I weren't an Ancient already.

I'm just weird ol' Native America.

"Y'know, I bet if I wasn't an 'Ancient' or whatever, you and Mexico and Canada would be the only ones who would acknowledge my existence," I said to America when we got home. I knew him as not being the type to comfort with some words of wisdom, but I had to try, at least.

"Yeah, probably," America said, laughing. "You'd be such a loser. I mean, you're already a huge loser, but you'd be a bigger one."

"And you ask me why so many people don't like you," I murmured under my breath, sweatdropping. I walked right into that one. I only added Mexico's name in there because he's my homeboy. We grew up together and although we've fought a whole lot through the years, we're treated as the same dangerous minorities that we are and that's what seperates the sophisticated from the slobs. That's what we've both learned, and that's why he and I don't walk into convenience stores with a hood on. You live and let live.

"What was up with France back there? Usually he doesn't even say hi when I go to meetings," I asked later that night. America was drying his hair after getting out of the shower and I just got done brushing my teeth.

"Oh, you're still on that? God, you gotta stop being so paranoid. He's just trying to be cool with you," America sighed, standing behind me and watching in the mirror as his little antenna of Nantucket limply rose up from the rest of his damp hair and stood erect.

I severely wanted to ask him if, when he dried it quickly enough, it would spring right up like a whack-a-mole or if it would still just kind of slowly rise like Dracula out of his coffin. But we were discussing something serious and I needed my answers.

"Well people usually don't want to associate with me. These are strange days we're living in," I murmured, placing my toothbrush back in the toothbrush cup that America has set up under the medicine cabinet/mirror we were just looking at.

When America didn't say anything, I stared at him staring at the back of my head in our reflection. Damn, I remember when he was just a little dopey colony... Now he's all tall and handsome and macho and I'm just... Here.

"Think I'll just go back to my house now," I said to break the silence, leaving the bathroom.

"It's 11 at night," he put in as he followed me.

"Yeah-huh," I said uncaringly.

"Aren't you gonna stay? I mean, we just got back."

"Do you _want_ me to stay?"

"... Sure."

I turned, gave him one of my weird half-smiles, and I went into the guest room down the hall.

He's always finding excuses for me to stay over at his house and to be quite honest, I have no problems with it. I just like knowing he still needs, and if not _want__s_ me around.

"Good night," I yelled through the door in Navajo. When America and I are alone, sometimes, and when I say that I mean _sometimes _we have short conversations in Navajo. He knows a lot of my languages but Navajo is one both of us speak perfectly, and fluently.

He gave the door I leaned against a swift, single pound as he walked by to go to the living room.

"I better wake up to you making pancakes or you'll be wishing I let you go home," he said. Although I knew I'd probably not make the pancakes just to spite him, I still opened the door and threw a pillow at the back of his head.

"I sure will, ya damn white boy."

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><p>Well isn't she lovely?<p>

Again, I apologize if you think she's a vulgar, horrible person, but trust me. I'm a (sheltered, not so hardcore) Native American and I know, somewhat, what we Native American youth act like nowadays and she reminds me a lot of myself. XD

Reviews? Criticisms? Bitter rants? I'm listening. I'll try to update when I can, but I have the attention span of a goldfish so don't get your hopes up. XD


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